


Hold the Sugar

by tealiqhts



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: + a lot of angst dont be fooled, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, Korean Keith (Voltron), Latino Lance (Voltron), M/M, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, also cringe-worthy coffee shop pick-up lines, so much cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7596265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealiqhts/pseuds/tealiqhts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance leaned over to Pidge as Keith walked out the door.</p><p>"On a scale of one to ten, how irritated do you think he'd be if I yelled '<i>tea</i> you later' right now?"</p><p>"Please don't."</p><p> </p><p>Or: There's a new customer at the Altea Café, Lance's bed is feeling too big as of late, and it only makes sense to court the most socially-inept person he's ever met. Perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Does [this](http://voguemorge.tumblr.com/post/53205039087/one-time-i-got-a-sample-from-the-tea-store-at-the) count as a prompt?
> 
> ~~just kidding this is going to be a lot more Angsty™ than I make it seem~~
> 
> also take note: no beta, so please point out grammar/usage mistakes in both my English and my Spanish, thank you(:

“God, Lance, what is your _damage_ ?”  
  
“That’s the fifth cup today, dude! Get a grip!”  
  
“Okay, _okay_ , I get it already, alright?” Lance shot back in defense, flicking the sticky tea off his hands with a grimace. Mint tea surrounded his sneakers in an embarrassing puddle, the dropped cup rolling away beneath the cabinets as Hunk crouched and mopped the floor with a rag as if it were second nature.  
  
Lance, scowling, refused to look at it as if that'd make it go away faster.  
  
“Christ. Honestly,” Pidge sighed as they offered an apology to the customer, “we’re really sorry. Could you wait a few more minutes for a fresh cup?”  
  
The woman gave a sympathetic smile in return, a sugar-sweet, “Of course,” leaving her lips, and Lance groaned as he washed off his hands, shoes sticking to the tile floors. It wasn’t his fault these cups were so damn slippery with their expensive material and shit. What the hell kind of hole-in-the-wall coffee shop makes their _cups_ more expensive than the actual _drink_ is the real question here.  
  
Rather than trying to re-attempt the drink (not that Pidge would even let him try in the first place), Lance snatched up a fresh rag and crouched out of sight to get the remainder of the spilt cup alongside Hunk.  
  
“Y’know, you’re super lucky we don’t keep stats for like, Failed Coffee-Making Attempts or something here,” Hunk said pointedly. “Shiro would’ve had your head stuffed and mounted on a wall by this point, man.”  
  
“Yeah yeah,” Lance mumbled, moving out of the way as Pidge delivered a new cup to the customer with yet another apology. “I mean, it’s not like I’m _enjoying_ being on my hands and knees right now, don’t’cha think? I’m trying.”  
  
Pidge shot him an accusatory look, “Well, considering you’ve been down there cleaning up your own messes for at least half of your shift today--”  
  
Lance huffed, “Oh, stuff it.” He stood up, tossing the rag into the sink, hands on hips and Pidge wondered briefly if he’d ever made it past the third-grade. “I’ll have you know, I’ve been told I’ve provided _the_ best customer service here than both of you combined, so who’s the real winner here?”  
  
“Uh, let me guess,” Pidge said, sarcasm practically dripping from their lips. “Were you told that by that one obvious stripper with half a shirt on, or the high schooler wearing a mini skirt and a pound of makeup?”  
  
“Pft, does it _matter_ ? Point is, I was complimented and you weren’t, little Jealous One.”  
  
Oh goodie. Hunk could already see where this was headed and sat back for the ride. Pidge hated having size used against them and, knowing this, Lance played that card as often as humanly possible, much to everyone’s pounding headache.  
  
“You know what Lance, I just had a great idea. Next time, you can take out the trash to the shady back alley by yourself, and then we’ll see how ‘big’ you are.”  
  
“Oh no no no no,” Lance violently shook his head, “You know I hate going back there, Pidge, and plus-- you don’t even have the authority to do that! News flash: Shiro designates chores, not you.”  
  
“You know, one day I’ll have the upper hand around here,” Pidge said with conviction, nose in the air, “and you’ll be the one fixing your own mistakes!”  
  
Hardly worried, Lance only laughed and jumped up to sit on the counter-- which, normally, wouldn’t be allowed under any circumstances but One, he was Lance and didn’t really care about useless café rules push-pinned to the wall and Two, there weren’t many customers in the café to begin with to make him feel bad for it. The day’s working hours were coming to an end, people were beginning to drag themselves back home to prepare for another boring, tear-jerking day tomorrow, and it was unlikely that anyone else was going to enter the shop.  
  
“Well, my dear Pidge, when that day dare comes,” Lance nudged Hunk with his tea-soaked shoe, grinning, “make sure you bring flowers to my funeral, bud.”  
  
Hunk nodded eagerly, though he was very obviously not listening to the conversation at all, “'Course.”  
  
Pidge huffed, their feathers very thoroughly ruffled. “Hunk, don’t agree with him, you traitor! Your ego will be the only thing sending you to your grave!”  
  
“My ego is in a very healthy state, thank you very much.”  
  
“The very air you breathe is ignorant, Lance.”  
  
“Damn, you’re real fired up today, Pidgey-Widgey,” Lance offered sympathetically, lips puckered. “Anything you wanna talk about, dear friend?”  
  
“Hardly anything with the likes of you!”  
  
“Oh come now, young grasshopper…”  
  
Rolling his eyes at his coworkers’ usual bickering, Hunk began to wipe down the counter for the day-- because _good lord_ , let this day be over already-- when the door opened once more. Internally he screamed bloody-murder in exhaustion. But, _externally_ :  
  
“Ah-- welcome!”  
  
Ruffling a very, very annoyed Pidge’s hair one last time with a mocking grin, Lance glanced up to see the newcomer at Hunk’s call-- it was his turn, after all, to take the next order-- and suddenly couldn’t look away again if his life depended on it.  
  
Oh shit.  
  
Oblivious, Pidge huffed, “Are you going to be able to take this order without screwing up, or am I gonna have to--”  
  
Lance slapped a hand over their mouth, never looking away.  
  
“Oh _shit_ ,” he breathed.  
  
It was like a splash of cold water, or maybe an ice cube on the stomach, or even a static shock from a metal pole-- but whatever it was got Lance back on his sticky feet, smoothing down the wrinkles in his tea-stained apron, and shoving Pidge away from the cash register to take their spot.  
  
“Lance, what the he--!”  
  
“I’m gonna date that,” Lance declared solemnly, and Pidge flicked him in the ear.  
  
“That’s not how it works.”  
  
“I’mma _make_ it work. Watch me.”  
  
Lance didn’t even flinch as the customer approached.  
  
“Welcome to Altea,” he said coolly-- but not _too_ coolly because that would be too forced, really, but just enough to make it seem like he didn’t care but kinda did, lowkey, deep down. At least-- that was the intention. Hopefully he caught on. “What can I help you with today?”  
  
God, were his eyes shaded purple, or was Lance hallucinating heaven? Either way, the attention directed on him was damn near overwhelming and the Walking Embodiment of Perfect Standards had one hand loosely holding the strap of his black backpack hanging off one shoulder, the other hooked in his front jean pocket, and eyes that weren’t even looking in Lance’s direction captivating Lance anyways without even asking for permission.  
  
Today was a very, very good day.  
  
“A medium vanilla latte,” the customer said promptly even as his eyes scanned the menu above Lance’s head, and Lance was already reaching for a cup and a pen. “Hold the sugar.”  
  
_Okay okay, so he’s got plain tastes, I can work with that no problem, no problem at all._ _  
_  
“Allllright,” Lance said almost melodically, scribbling down the order onto the cup’s slick surface. And then it occurred to him in a sudden, sharp moment: he was _not fucking dropping this cup, god-fucking forbid._ “And, your name?”  
  
He looked at Lance. “Keith.”  
  
Something screamed and kicked and cried inside Lance, but his hand (and, thank god, his external appearance, too) stayed steady as he wrote down the five letters, a distant, “Keith,” rolling off his tongue as if he were testing it, just to see how it felt to say it. And, just for the record: it felt amazing.  
  
“I’ll have it out in a sec, Keith,” Lance said with a faded smile, and Keith gave a nod before making his way to front-most part of the café, towards the tables.  
  
Meanwhile Lance moved like he’d never made a latte before in his life-- fuck it, like he never stepped foot in a _kitchen_ before in his life-- and it was certainly a sight to see: cautious, careful, uncharacteristically patient, and Pidge and Hunk watched him like very confused cats whose dead prey suddenly up-ed and scampered away.  
  
“Smooth,” Pidge said with a raised brow. “I thought we agreed not to ask for names anymore. That’s just cheap customer service to make them think we care.”  
  
Well, that, but also because after the fifth LaQuan Sharkeisha-Sharqueffa James came in the shop with their group of friends, Pidge lost their shit. Lance and Hunk didn't stop laughing for days.  
  
“It’s called _strategy_ ,” Lance said, moving about the bar with the soon-to-be-latte cup. “Learn it.”  
  
“Oh, I have, actually,” Pidge sniffed, pushing up their glasses, “multiple times. Though I’m afraid I didn’t need it in this situation, sadly. Seems like that gentleman is Keith Pak, top senior in my school and definitely the ladies’ man, if you ask me. Maybe if you hadn’t _shoved me out of the way_ , I could’ve--”  
  
Lance almost (ALMOST) dropped the cup (AGAIN) as he slid it beneath the machine to be filled, his head whipping around so fast the world went blurry for a few moments. “Pidge-- Pidge, you _know_ him?” He ran a hand down his face in utter relief, “Oh fuck yes, _amo mi vida, gracias a dios,_ please tell me everything you know-- no no even better, _introduce_ me--”  
  
“Oh I’m sorry, what was that?” Pidge asked in an annoyingly high-pitched voice, cupping a hand around their ear. “I couldn’t hear you over Hunk bringing flowers to your funeral because there’s no way I could _ever_ have the upper hand on you.”  
  
“Oh come on man, don’t be an asshat!” Lance pleaded as Pidge smirked, arms crossed, and Hunk stifled a laugh behind a hand. “You know I was just joking around, we’re _pals_ , remember? Pals joke around all the time-- right, Hunk?”  
  
“Hey, I’m outta this one. All you, Lance.”  
  
“Great, glad I can always count on you.” He turned back to Pidge, opened his mouth--  
  
“No.”  
  
“But--”  
  
“ _No_ .”  
  
Great. Seeing as Pidge definitely wasn’t going to let this go anytime soon (yeah, fuck you too, Karma), Lance muttered a string of foreign curses beneath his breath as he picked up the now-full cup, quickly took a pen to its surface for a second time (which earned yet another curious glance from his coworkers), and finished it off with a layer of foam. Satisfied by its outcome, Lance went for a straw as the finishing touch-- before stopping because wait, he can definitely outdo himself this time.  
  
Instead, he went for the toothpicks.  
  
“Uh,” Hunk began as Lance began poking around in the drink in a manner that definitely looked suspicious in more ways than one, “Not that I’m shaming your way of life or anything but, what’re you doing?”  
  
“Foam art, obviously! People dig that shit!” Well, that’s what he hoped. He also hoped he had some sense of artistic ability, because he wasn’t really sure if that was needed for something like this or not.  
  
Either way, Lance ran the toothpick through the white fluff over and over, deeply concentrated. Turns out the foam likes to stick to the toothpick and the sides of the cup and the foam itself so goddamn annoyingly, and it wasn’t long before Lance frowned and threw out the toothpick, putting a fresh layer of foam on top in defeat. Looks like it’ll have to wait for next time.  
  
“Nice one, Picasso.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
After plopping in the straw, slipping on the cup sleeve, and grabbing an extra treat from one of the display cases, Lance made his way over to Keith-- who, apparently, had already made his entire table of choice into a study-homework-textbook _paradise_ .  
  
Lance blinked as he approached. The backpack hadn’t even looked that big when Keith first came in, but this? This was a chaos of school supplies. Maybe the dude was just trying to get his grades up or something, who knows, but this looked like the kind of shit torn right out of Back-2-School commercials amplified three times.  
  
“Here’s a vanilla latte for you, Keith,” Lance said, attracting those purple eyes away from a textbook and onto himself and Lance melted, “And a bonus chocolate muffin-- on the house, don’t worry,” he added with a wink, until there was a very obvious cough from the general direction of the cash register, and Lance rolled his eyes and revised, “On me, actually.”  
  
Keith looked between him and the cup and the muffin before mumbling something close to a confused, “Thanks,” and taking the offered items. Lance waited until he situated the food among his mountains of books and packets before offering a final smile, one he’s sure that gleams in the light, and said, “If you need anything, the name’s Lance. Lance Martinez, always at your service, don't be afraid to ask.”  
  
Well. It might’ve been kinda weird, in retrospect, for Lance to be sounding like a knight waiting on royalty rather than a part-time high school cafe barista who'd really rather be doing something better with his life, but at that moment Lance couldn’t give two shits, because Keith looked up at him with a faint, amused and completely confused smile and a prompt, “Well, thanks, Lance.”  
  
Lance came back to the register with a daze hanging around his head like fog.  
  
Pidge laughed as he walked by them, reestablishing his seat on the counter.  
  
“You do know he’s completely and utterly _straight_ , right, Lance?”  
  
Lance shrugged. “Good. At least he’ll fall harder when he hits the Gay.”  
  
Hunk laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible. How does a guy possibly have that much confidence?”  
  
“He doesn’t,” Pidge begged to differ. They tapped the side of their head. “It’s all just made up in here.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter where it came from, does it?” Lance pointed out. “S’long as I have it, I’m good to go. Now--”  
  
He put his fingers on the edge of the counter, palms pressed against the marble, leaning forward ever so slightly to look intensely through the glint in Pidge’s glasses.  
  
“Spill everything about your good friend Keith to me, hm?”  
  
“We’re not friends,” Pidge said, arms crossed. “He is a senior, after all. Everyone just knows about him in one way or another, and-- wait, why should I even tell you? You don’t deserve it!”  
  
“Pidge, please, ” Lance pleaded, and the desperate ring in his voice held true. “I’ll do anything, I swear, but you’re my only lead right now _and_ my only source of information. Help me out here.”  
  
Hunk whistled low, eyes sliding to the side. "I thought I'd never see the day..."  
  
He had a point, and Pidge’s eyes glanced back and forth between Lance’s before they very obviously gave in, sighing, “Fine. You’ll owe me, though.”  
  
As Lance nodded in agreement, something kinda bitter-tasting in his mouth because god knows he’s probably gonna regret that sooner or later, Pidge thought of an appropriate description of their latest customer.  
  
“Well, for one, he’s insanely smart. Like, brilliant actually.” Their eyes seemed to grow a little brighter at this fact, no wonder. Peas of a pod. “I’ve heard he’s aiming for an Ivy League school, but I can’t be sure. Either way, he’ll get in somewhere with his brains. But, on the flipside--”  
  
They lowered their voice at this part, glancing back at Keith, but he was too busy with his nose in his book to notice any difference. Lance couldn't help but think he looked good in a strange kind of way, all stressed and concentrated.  
  
“He doesn’t really have, I don’t know, _friends_ ? People hate talking to him and I’ve personally never tried, but he’s always busy with who-knows-what and stressed like hell." Pidge smirked. "Still, the girls flock to him because there’s hardly anyone left who’s good looking and has something going for them unless you’re, like, Beyonce or something.”  
  
Lance stiffened. “Hey, _I’m--_ !”  
  
“I’m just gonna stop you right there because no, you are not, Lance,” Pidge said without missing a beat. As Lance blubbered for a reply, Pidge went on. “Anyways, other than that, I really don’t know much about him. Though I have heard some of his ex’s still stalk him like crazy, but there’s no helping him at that point. Just make sure not to get a knife in the chest from some crazy chick, okay?"  
  
Humming an agreement, Lance drummed his fingers on the countertop. So, in the end, all he got from this was: low key (high key?) nerdy, introvert, hates people, but insanely hot with a good sense of fashion. He weighed the options.  
  
“Well, whatever,” Lance replied, sitting up straight again. His gaze went beyond Pidge, over the shoulders of Hunk, and rested easily on the red-shirted, bookworm target across the cafe. Keith’s shoulders were slim, his body completely sculpted, and Lance wouldn’t be lying if he said his mouth watered at the sight, just a little bit. “All I’m really concerned about is how he is in bed, if you know what I mean.”  
  
Pidge’s face screwed up. “Lance, you can’t always look at people like they’re-- like they’re _trophies_ . Another notch on the belt isn’t going to get you anywhere.”  
  
“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not planning to get anywhere then, right?” Lance shrugged off easily-- but with the sudden twin glares being thrown at him, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, whoa, chill. I’m just saying-- what’s the problem with a one night stand if you both walk away satisfied? It’s a win-win situation, honestly.”  
  
“And how do you possibly know the other person is satisfied after you both ‘walk away’?”  
  
A leering smile suddenly grew on Lance’s face, slow and smug. “Oh, come on, we’re talking about _me_ , Lance motherfucking Martinez right now. They’ll _always_ walk away satisfied.”  
  
Oh, god. Lance brushed off his shoulders as Hunk silently gagged and Pidge slapped their hands over their ears, a choked, “ _TMI, TMI, TMI,_ ” being chanted under their breath. The three employees were a sight to see, especially when Lance finally looked up past his smug-ass grin and took notice of a young woman nervously waiting to be served and was probably regretting her choice of café.  
  
“Oh shit-- I mean, shoot, sorry,” Lance apologized quickly, jumping down from the counter. Quiet (and probably off-put by their existence altogether), she only ordered a simple chai tea which was easy enough to throw together, and so it wasn’t long before Lance was walking back from delivering her drink-- aaand with a wink to Pidge and Hunk, making a detour along the way. No harm in getting to know your enemy, he figured.  
  
“AP Lit?” Lance took a guess as he came to a stop alongside Keith’s table, hands resting on the crown of a chair and head tilted to read the title of the book Keith had sprawled open. _The Odyssey_ . “Ah man that class sucks. Teacher hates me, I’m pretty sure.”  
  
Keith glanced up at him, obviously taken aback. Lance tried not to notice it.  
  
“Uh, yeah,” was what eventually came out of Keith’s mouth, twirling his pencil between his fingers as he looked back down, “Our teacher’s pretty tough, too. This is gonna take a few more hours.”  
  
“A few more _hours_ ? How long have you been working on it?”  
  
Keith blinked, rubbed at an eye. “Don’t know. Probably two hours, already.”  
  
Damn, this kid needed a hobby. Well, whatever. Lance didn't come here to admire his Brains.  
  
Lance could care less but he asked anyways: “What is it?”  
  
“Read, annotate, and dissect the book, every ten pages.”  
  
“Damn, that sucks.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
"What school?"  
  
"High Ridge."  
  
"Live close?"  
  
"Ten minute drive."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Short, quick answers. Lance was finding it hard to keep the conversation going. Something suspiciously Pidge-sounding screamed in his head that his attempts were completely futile-- which only gave him all the more reason to keep trying.  
  
“So, uh, what books--”  
  
“I’m sorry, but,” Keith suddenly looked up, looked square into Lance’s eyes and said, “do you mind? I kinda need to concentrate for this, no offense.”  
  
Offense taken.  
  
“No problem dude, my bad, my bad,” Lance waved off, backing up. “Kinda carried away, I guess. Have fun with your book and all.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
But that last word was nothing like the simple kindness Lance had received before, you know the one where he smiled and shit? and he stalked back to his station in a considerably worse mood than before. No wonder the guy didn’t have friends, Christ.  
  
“Don’t even ask,” Lance shot as he plopped down on one of the stools behind the bar, effectively shutting up both Pidge and Hunk who had their mouths open for questioning the very obvious rejection that had just taken place.  
  
“Dang, shot down after only, what, ten minutes? Rough, man.”  
  
He wasn't in the mood to fight back. Lance breathed in, breathed out, and then in that moment decided: fuck it. It’s too early for judgement, too soon for prejudice. The guy was stressed, obviously, so it was just bad timing. Besides-- the end result was going to be hella worth it, he could feel it.  
  
“Well, in that case,” Hunk finally piped up, swinging around a fresh rag, “should we start cleaning up for today?”  
  
“Yes, please,” Pidge sighed tiredly and the trio began to wash out trays and wipe down counters and replenish ingredients like trained robots. There was still a faint bitter taste in Lance’s mouth, which probably explained why he didn’t talk all that much, which probably also explained why everyone else held their tongue-- until there began to be very obvious sounds of books slapping shut and papers being rustled, and Lance looked up in time to see Keith store away his belongings and be on his way out.  
  
Lance leaned over to Pidge as Keith walked out the door.  
  
“On a scale of one to ten how irritated do you think he’d be if I yelled ‘ _tea_ you later’ right now?”  
  
“Please don’t.”  
  
Hunk sniffed. “By the way, Lance, what’d you write on his cup the second time?”  
  
Oh. Pidge immediately slapped a hand over their face when Lance regained that smug, cocky, pompous, slow-building grin on his face, whispering _god no_ under their breath, but it was already too late.  
  
_“No extra sugar; you’re already sweet enough for the both of us.”_ _  
_  
He winked in rapid succession and put up finger guns.  
  
“Oh, god.”  
  
“Please tell me you didn’t add a winky face.”  
  
“I did.”  
  
“Oh, _god, Lance.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my favorite thing about this au is that Altea is the name of their shop and it has the word tea in it. ~~kill me~~
> 
> [my tumblr](http://tealiqhts.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance would talk chemistry to him all day just to see that smile twice.

Keith came back on a Thursday.

And thank god he did, because Pidge was _this_ close to single-handedly strangling the living breath out of Lance. The poor boy was on his toes the entire week after Keith’s first visit, continually thinking he’d lost his first and only chance to woo ‘Moody Mullet Boy’ especially after being so brutally pushed aside-- though his pride would never admit as much.

It was, in Lance’s own words, just a ‘rough start’.

His coworkers, however, had other ideas.

“He won’t come back,” Pidge had said, cleaning their glasses on their apron, and Lance scowled as he scrubbed violently at the countertops.

“Wow, thanks for being the voice of positivity in my life,” he muttered. “‘Sides, you have nothing to back that up with anyways, so try again.”

“I have _more_ than enough information to back that up,” Pidge sniffed. “It’s almost the end of the semester, which also includes _finals_. You know, the thing that’ll probably decide if you’ll end up on the streets next year? I bet you already forgot.”

“Ehh.” Lance screwed up his face in distaste _._ “Not ‘forgot’, technically. More like, trying not to think about it.”

“What, your grades already going down the drain?”

Lance clicked his tongue. “You betcha.”

_“Lance.”_

“I know, I know.”

Lance huffed, ruffling his own hair with something close to frustration, or maybe even anger. He’d already been talked to (screamed at) by his mom, teased by his a-lot-more-smarter siblings, and threatened by his former vale-fucking-dictorian father. God, he had the worst of luck when it came to his family. Just the thought made him wince.

“It’s not like I’m not _trying,_ ” he whined indignantly. “Things like that just don’t come easy to me. I mean, what’re _your_ grades, Pidge?”

Pidge beamed, and Lance immediately had regrets. “All A-pluses, all AP, and I think I’ll pass at least three of the five tests-- I mean, I _do_ have an 106 percent in Calc and I got extra credit on--”

“Okay, yeah no, I shouldn’t have asked you.”

“Sorry not sorry.”

Lance moaned as if in pain-- which he was, emotionally at least-- and plopped in his designated stool, smushing his face against the countertop in defeat.

“Lance, dude,” Hunk said sympathetically, “you’re a _senior_. There’s no going back after this unless you wanna, like, retake a whole ‘nother year which would totally suck. You just gotta pull through.”

“Jeez, you guys are terrible at pep-talking!” Lance whined. “I need more of ‘You can do it, Lance!’ and ‘We believe in you, Lance!’ and less ‘You suck and should throw yourself out the nearest window, Lance.’”

“I did not say that.”

“You might as well have!”

Pidge laughed, “I mean, not that I wouldn’t _mind_ if--”

“Stop,” Lance grimaced, peeking up. That little twat. He didn’t even want to hear it today. Sighing, Lance mumbled, “Anyways, enough about me; I already know too much about me, thank you very much. So what if finals are coming up? What does that have to do with Keith again?”

Pidge sighed hopelessly. “The reason why your grades suck is because you never stop thinking with your dick.”

“Yeah yeah, I get it, now maybe answer the question now?”

Pidge glared.

“Sure thing, _pal._ Let me tell you, your beloved Keith is not gonna be all that enticing soon. I mean, I’m all for genuine interest in academics and your future, but man-- that guy gets _obsessed.”_ Pidge shuddered. “Last year, I saw him in the library a week before finals and I was too scared to get any closer.”

Lance frowned. “That’s weird.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve never seen so many textbooks in one place, I’m telling you--”

“No no, not that, but,” Lance waved off, sitting up. “It’s just-- if he’s _that_ obsessed with getting good grades or whatever, why doesn’t he just _go home_ and study? The guy practically broke our table with how much stuff he brought with him last time!”

“I thought you’d be happy for that, Lance,” Hunk pointed out. “Doesn’t that mean Keith will spend more time in the café and you’ll be able to see him without stalking him to his house?-- which would be totally weird by the way, so don’t.”

Lance shrugged. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, but yeah, good point. Still,” he sighed, drumming his fingers on his knee, “we gotta make sure he keeps coming back, huh?”

“Uh, I don’t know where you got this ‘we’ idea from but I am definitely not a part of this sick lust chase you have after that poor guy,” Pidge declared. “I’m going to stay just far enough out of reach so that when he files a report about a Lance Martinez sexually harassing him, I won’t be a suspect.”

Hunk snorted. “I have to agree with that.”

“Oh come on, you guys doubt me _that_ much?” Lance feigned hurt, crossing his arms. “Whatever. Twenty bucks says he’ll be putty in my hands by the end of the week, easy.”

Immediately Hunk opened his mouth, brows furrowed, but Pidge beat him to it.

“Seriously?” Pidge pushed up their glasses. “The guy wouldn’t even talk to you for a solid five minutes two days ago. Not to mention-- _school?”_

Lance picked at his nails. “I’ll work around it.”

“I hardly think you'll be able to pull it off.”

“ _Pidge--_ that’s not the biggest problem here!” Hunk suddenly piped in, eyes wide in utter disbelief at his coworkers. “Lance you can’t just go around putting _money_ on people! That’s like, social injustice!”

“Pft, _how_?”

“I-- I don't know but--” Hunk spluttered to find the right words, hands flailing. “You might as well just make him a stripper, if that's all you're amounting him to!”

“Whoa there, let's not take it to extremes, alright?” Lance said dismissively as he and Pidge shook hands. Deal sealed. “It's just some friendly competition. And _I’m_ the one who has to do all the work!”

“And _I’m_ about to be twenty dollars richer.”

“Shut up, Pidge.”

“Well, _I_ don't like it,” Hunk stated, probably just for the record, and Lance found himself thinking that sometimes Hunk could just be too much. Too uptight, for a guy as big and soft as he is.

“Hey, chill,” Lance said in a lazy attempt to ease the tension in Hunk’s shoulders. “It’ll just be an easy, in-and-out procedure. No harm done. Plus, twenty bucks isn't even that much money anyways.”

But Hunk, visibly upset for a reason Lance couldn’t really understand, leaned back against the bar, looked away, and said sourly, “Well, Twenty Bucks is about to walk right through the door. Have at it.”

Lance blinked, confused-- and then finally understood in a bolt of surprise, and he whipped around to see Keith pushing open the door, the fall’s breeze rushing through the café and ruffling that stupid mullet and Lance’s day was suddenly really, really better.

Pidge only snorted.

“Well well well, look who it is,” Lance wondered as Keith approached, and purple eyes blinked up to look at him in recognition. God, they were beautiful. Lance almost felt tongue-tied. Almost. “It’s _bean_ a few days, huh? How do you _brew,_ Keith?”

Somewhere behind him Hunk choked. Pidge rubbed at their temples.

But Lance didn’t care-- no, more accurately, he didn’t even _notice,_ because all his attention was soaked up like a sponge at the sound of Keith’s small inaudible snort, the crinkle of his nose, his _smile_ and oh fuck, Lance needed to be revived right there, right then.

“Well that was, um,” Keith did another half-smile, shaking his head as he looked to the menu, and huffed, “that was pretty bad. I hope you haven’t been waiting to use that, dude.”

And oh boy, Lance couldn’t believe his luck. Two smiles (albeit only half-hearted, but they _still count)_ from the moodiest person he knew in less than a minute and Lance wanted to turn around and scream in Pidge’s face that he hopes they have twenty bucks to spare because this was _too good._

“Maybe, but I guess I didn’t have to wait long,” Lance said simply, and if Keith gave him a weird look he either chose to ignore it or chose not to mention it. Grabbing a cup, Lance looked up. “Same as last time?”

Keith watched him. “I’d be surprised if you actually remembered what I got.”

“‘Course I did,” Lance reassured, scribbling down the order albeit only having heard it once. The weight of Keith’s eyes on him was heavy. “It’s only been a few days and it’s not like we get loads of customers, you know. So-- vanilla, no sugar, right?”

“I guess so,” Keith said. “Thanks.”

Something unnatural in Lance’s chest was doing back flips but he managed a simple enough, “Of course,” before Keith paid Pidge at the register and went to seat himself at the same table as last time.

“Is it just me,” Hunk spoke in a voice low enough just for Lance and Pidge’s ears, seemingly out of his angry funk for now, “or is that guy in a better mood today?”

“How would you possibly know?” Lance asked honestly. “You’ve never talked to him before, right?”

Hunk looked thoughtful. “Yeah, but…”

Pidge glanced over their shoulder to sneak a peek at Keith, who was still in the middle of laying out Homework & Company. “I’d have to agree. Something must be wrong, especially with finals only two weeks away. He actually looks _human.”_

Lance snorted as he prepared the drink. “Whatever. You were probably just trying to scare me out of the deal by telling me all that shit about him.”

“First of all, I told you that stuff _before_ we made the deal and, second of all, even if he’s okay for right now it’s only a matter of time before he disappears off the face of the Earth. Or, you know, you _could_ just give up now…”

“Yeah right,” Lance immediately retorted-- but as he waited for the cup to be filled with the vanilla-flavored caffeine, he couldn’t help but remember that, oh yeah, Keith disappearing for two (probably even _more_ ) weeks was not gonna slide, deal or no deal. God knows at some point Lance was also going to have to focus on his studies, if only just a little. Maybe if he could just…

With the cup halfway full Lance suddenly pulled off his old, “Altea-Café-Required” apron (he never understood that rule anyways; he could make coffee just as well with or without that old rag hanging off him) and reached behind Hunk to grab at his jacket he had stowed away during work hours. Shrugging it on, he answered his coworkers’ dually confused looks with, “I have an idea.”

Pidge rolled their eyes. “God be with us.”

“Hey, I may not be book-smart, but I’d say I’m pretty proficient in my street-smartness,” Lance proudly pointed out as he picked up the cup and filled the top with foam. “Trust me for once.”

Pidge had a hard time swallowing that pill.

“Wait, Lance!” Hunk called as the eager barista already began to make his way over to Keith, drink in hand, “you forgot to put the cup sleeve--”

But the way Lance threw a dark look over his shoulder, practically screaming, “Keep your mouth shut or I _swear,”_ Hunk thought it’d be better if he didn’t remind him how to do his job. Rude.

“Good god. If he drops it I will laugh so hard you might as well call an ambulance,” Pidge muttered, because unfortunately they both knew three things for sure: Lance had extremely bad luck, Lance was notorious for spilling any kind of drink at any time of day, and Altea Café cups without their cardboard cup sleeves might as well be a bar of buttered soap.

Hunk couldn’t watch.

But Lance was fine-- more than fine, actually, because there was no way this wasn’t going to work. Keith was in total Nerd Mode as far as he could tell; engrossed in his stupid book, hand posed over his notebook as he took notes, and completely oblivious to what was happening around him. Cute, in an overly-worked kind of way.

“Back to your books, huh?” Lance commented, and Keith didn’t even look up, forehead creased in concentration.

“Mm.”

God. The guy needed to learn some Conversations with Strangers Etiquette 101 at the very least. Lance fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead reached out the drink to be taken-- and nearly fucking _died_ when it almost slipped from his fingers, but he managed to grasp it again just in time before anyone could even notice. Besides--

Keith reached out without even looking up, trusting Lance to put it in his hands, and Lance let it happen naturally. At first it fit perfectly in Keith’s palm-- but, like every other inexperienced person (and luckily Lance was a _veteran_ ) he seemed to underestimate the exact slickness of the poor cup and--

“Oh-- _shit!”_

The drink slipped from between them, the cup slammed against the edge of the table, and both boys jumped backwards as it burst open.

Now, the First Mistake was that Lance kinda, sorta, may have _maybe_ underestimated the ramifications of tricking someone to spill a fucking hot as shit drink over themselves. He had to bite his tongue to keep from yelling out when a good portion of the latte splashed his hand’s bare skin because the café’s few customers already had all their attention on them, Pidge and Hunk were already openly gaping at him, and-- most importantly-- he was more concerned about the good amount of vanilla latte soaking his favorite jacket.

Keith stood up as half of the drink dripped off the edge of the table, and it was only then that Lance looked up and completely _lost himself,_ because the flush creeping across Keith’s nose and cheeks and ears was fucking _adorable,_ and suddenly his latte burns hurt a whole lot less.

“I-- oh, _fuck_ , I’m so sorry,” Keith spluttered, hands hovering close to Lance like he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, but he knew he had to do _something_ anyways. “I wasn’t even paying attention-- y-your jacket--”

Lance laughed, flicking the drink off his hands as he looked down at the stains seeping into his clothes, “Don’t sweat it, it’s fine, really. Happens all the time.”

No, it didn't, at least not with other customers but Keith didn't need to know that. However the blush was slowly making its way down to Keith’s neck, and the poor boy looked absolutely helpless. Holding back a grin, Lance began to shrug off his wet jacket.

“I’ll-- let me clean up, at least, and I can wash your jacket and bring it back, too--”

God, he was too damn cute.

“Keith, really. It’s fine.” Lance made sure to meet his eyes. “I’ll clean up, no worries. But-- I think I’ll take you up on the jacket offer. I’m not so good with laundry and shit. Well, more like my family doesn't let me get close to the washing machine after what happened last time.”

The humor was small but enough and Keith nodded, taking the jacket in his hands. It took a moment, but then Lance smirked when Keith sat back down and looked grimly at the pages in his notebook and worksheets, stained by the spilt drink.

Ah, damn. And _that,_ ladies and gentleman, was Mistake Number Two.

Lance swallowed, smugness suddenly replaced by something close to guilt. He’d only have to imagine the thoughts going through Keith’s head, especially after the guy worked so hard on whatever he was working on. “I’ll get the rags, so sit tight real quick. We’ll fix that, hopefully.”

He hurried back to the bar to be greeted by Hunk’s wide eyes and Pidge’s slow, disapproving shake of the head.

“A devil,” Pidge muttered as Lance collected a few spare towels from beneath the cabinets, “you are actually a devil, you know that?”

Lance huffed a laugh, shrugged. “I’m just a guy who knows how to play his cards right.”

“There was no ‘cards’ to that! You literally made him spill his drink all over himself and his stuff, the poor guy!”

“ _And_ me. If you ask me, that's plenty of strategy right there.”

“Well don’t be all pissy to _me_ when you start to lose at your own game!” Pidge hissed at his back when Lance headed back to Keith, and Lance simply waved him off. So dramatic sometimes, jeez.

This time around Keith _actually_ looked up as Lance approached, the red on his face beginning to dissolve, slowly. Although Lance couldn’t quite understand why he was so embarrassed-- the other customers’ stares had been long gone once they’d seen that it wasn't a gunshot that had went off-- he was thankful anyways.

“I’ll help,” Keith offered again, but even as Lance determinedly shook off his assistance, he tossed him a rag anyways.

“You’re seriously persistent,” Lance said, leaning down to soak up the spilt latte with his own towel. “Just clean off your books. I know my teachers would flip their shit if I showed up to class with stains all over their textbooks.”

Keith hesitated, but then started to pat at the puddles on his papers nonetheless. “Well,” he muttered, “I’m hoping my teachers like me more than I think.”

They probably do, they probably have statues and portraits of Keith all over their houses because it didn’t take much to know that he was the _perfect_ student, but Lance chose to keep that thought to himself.

“I don’t know about that,” Lance said with a grimace instead. “They seem like they pretty much hate you, I mean, you have more homework in one week than I’ve ever had in my lifetime _combined_.”

Keith laughed a little breathlessly, a little cautious. “Yeah no kidding. Not much I can do about it, but it sucks ass, trust me.”

Well, that was a little more heartening, in Lance’s opinion. At least the guy wasn’t the type of person who actually enjoyed being swamped with assignments, god forbid, because those were the kinds of people Lance prayed for at night.

“You don't seem to mind doing it all, though,” Lance said.

Keith wet his lips, gave half a shrug. “It's not like I have a choice. School’s school. I just do what I can.”

“Damn.”

Spoken like a true hero-- or at least, the kind of person your mom wants you to be. Just do it, even if you don't like it, because you _know_ you have to do it anyways. That rule never really stuck with Lance after all these years, honestly.

There was a brief flash of light in the corner of Lance’s eye as he continued to clean, and he turned to see a phone on the edge of the table. Keith’s phone, he assumed, and it looked like it was _blowing up_ with messages, or calls, or both. It was on silent and seemed seconds away from quietly self-destructing, and Lance blinked. Pidge had said the guy was popular, but shit.

“Uh,” he started, nodding his chin towards the poor device, and Keith wiped away the last of the drops on his books, “I think someone’s trying to reach you, dude. Damn. Urgent much?”

Without even flinching, without even batting an eye, Keith simply reached over and just-- turned the phone over. Didn’t look at the messages, didn’t look to see who it was. The only time Lance saw someone’s phone going off like that was when Lance himself had five missed calls from his mom while at a New Year’s party, and shit went down _hard_ that night. Rough start to the year.

“You sure you don’t just wanna make sure it’s not your parents or something--?”

“I can’t focus on that right now,” Keith said sharply, curtly, though this time Lance got the feeling that the hostility wasn’t directed towards him. It was his cue to let it go, probably, so he did.

As Keith went back to smoothing out the pages in his notebook, Lance took one glance at all the notes crammed on a page and huffed in amazement. “You seriously have the most dedication to school I’ve ever seen-- besides, Pidge, actually.”

Keith blinked. “Pidge?”

“Yeah, Pidge Gunderson. They’re the short one with the even shorter hair at the register. Said they go to the same school as you--”

“Yeah, I know of them, I just,” Keith looked over his shoulder, looked at Pidge goofing around with Hunk with whatever Hunk had shaped out of paperclips ( _real_ professional, idiots) and said, “never actually seen them in person before.”

“Well, probably not.” Lance snorted. “Pidge’s a hermit. Not worth meeting them, if you ask me.”

“They’re brilliant.”

Lance blinked at the sudden comment. Keith was still watching Pidge, as if in complete admiration, and Lance didn’t understand because wasn’t it the other way around?

“Wow. They’d definitely argue that,” Lance said. “First thing Pidge said when you walked in a few days ago was that _you_ were brilliant.”

Keith turned to look at him, clearly taken aback.

“Artificially, maybe,” he said as if in confusion. “But Pidge is just-- _naturally_ smart.”

Question marks flew around in Lance’s head as he looked at Keith, and then Keith’s books, and then Keith’s notes, and finally concluded: what’s the difference between _learning_ to be smart rather than being _naturally_ smart? Was that even a thing? Lance wouldn’t know. Maybe it was a Smart Person’s thing.

“Whatever you say,” is what eventually came out of Lance’s mouth, and he finished up mopping the latte. “All I’m saying is, you’re both lucky. My mom doesn’t care _how_ I get smart, I just better do it before finals or else I might be MIA for a few months and the police are probably gonna get involved.”

Keith gave a little breathless laugh and it was beautiful, honestly, because even if they can only bond over school-related topics, Lance would talk chemistry to him all day just to see that smile twice. And, considering they hadn’t even been able to talk at _all_ two days prior, Lance swore it was more than just a ‘good mood’ keeping them together right now. Call it luck, or something else.

“You know, you do look like the kind of guy to have shitty grades,” Keith said simply, _bluntly,_ and Lance frowned. “No offense.”

“And _you_ know, you seem to like to say ‘no offense’ when you say the most offensive things possible, Christ,” Lance argued. “I’ll have you know, all my grades are above a D.”

Keith smirked, a little smug. “But if you want to get at least a B in the class, what grade do you have to get on your finals?”

Lance opened his mouth-- then froze. Oh, shit. He had a point.

He slumped in the chair across from Keith, elbows on table and head in hands.

“Probably like a 130 percent,” he croaked. “I’m so fucked. I can’t ever go back home. I’m done for.”

“Don’t be dramatic. Just start studying now, and you should be fine,” Keith said coolly, as if it were the most obvious, easiest thing in the world, and Lance looked up at him in utter disbelief.

“How am I supposed to study shit that was barely taught, which means I barely understand any of it, which means I’ll _barely_ be through the first question without malfunctioning? Your brain is probably, like, three times the size of mine. I don’t even think I can _begin_ to--”

And then Lance stopped and considered the situation, and it was like a chorus of angels in his head because no matter how cliché it sounds, it might actually work. It might actually fucking work.

“Whoops, just had a great idea, hear me out,” Lance suddenly picked up again out of absolutely nowhere, and Keith looked at him dubiously. “You’re smart, I’m stupid, match made in heaven: Tutor me.”

Keith’s mouth twitched. “Uh--”

“I know, I know, you’re busy or whatever with your own studying,” Lance hurried on, “but if you’re teaching me the same stuff you’re studying yourself, it’s basically just a big circle of equal accomplishment!”

Keith watched him carefully, very obviously hesitant, and said, “Why do I get the feeling it'd take three times as long to study with you around?”

Lance shrugged. “Probably because it will. But c’mon man, help me out here. You _know_ how terrifying it is when your mom is jumping down your throat! I swear I’ll focus-- I’ll even pay you, or something, but be a bro and bro up!”

And then Lance internally winced, because ‘bro up’ definitely wasn't something to say when convincing someone that you'd be able to take studying seriously-- even though he wouldn't anyways, but it's the thought that counts.

Keith’s eyes flickered back to his books. “I… don’t need money, but I just…”

He trailed off.

Was that a yes? Was it a no? Lance would never really be sure, because before he could even open his mouth to argue his point--

“ _Ow!_ Hey-- what the _hell?!”_

Lance squeaked as he was forcibly dragged out of his chair, something pulling him by the back of the shirt. He struggled like a fish out of water, reaching back to claw at whatever was attacking him before realizing that yes, it was a hand, and yes, it was Shiro. He could feel that stupid watch he always wore. Fuck.

“Ooo, caught by the boss himself,” Pidge whistled low as soon as Lance was released back at his station, hastily regaining his balance. Pidge nudged a very disappointed-looking Hunk. “Didn’t think karma would come around this fast.”

“Karma?” Shiro asked, arms crossed over his windbreaker, and he stared down at Lance hard enough to make the latter glance to the side. “What would karma be after you for, Lance?”

Lance grimaced. “Nothing important, Pidge you twat,” he muttered, trying his best not to look at the way Keith was watching him in concern from across the room. He lowered his voice, borderline pouty. “ _Man_ , Shiro. You have the worst timing. You totally just blew my strategy straight up in my face.”

Shiro sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he always does whenever he caught Lance doing stupid shit. Which wasn’t very often, Lance was proud to admit, though it still kinda did, sometimes. Maybe.

“At this point, I don’t even care, Lance,” Shiro said finally. “We don’t need you driving away any more customers with your antics.”

“All of you are _insulting_ ,” Lance declared, pride thoroughly wounded. “If anything, I _reel_ people into this stupid shop like they’re fucking-- _fish_.”

Pidge huffed. “Customer Service 101: Refer to customers as fish, sit around all day doing literally nothing, and then wonder why you’re not getting a raise. Perfect.”

“ _Pidge--!”_

“Okay, okay, enough,” Shiro said, hand raised. He still smelled like the breeze, and it was obvious he’d decided to walk here instead of drive, nature-loving guy he was. “I didn’t come here to contest your manliness, Lance, I just needed to ask you guys a favor.”

Lance grumbled something beneath his breath but otherwise held his tongue, and the trio of coworkers waited expectantly. Shiro just had that kind of power, sometimes. Hunk called it sorcery.

“We all know the Fall Festival is coming up soon,” Shiro went on, down to business, “which means new recipes for the café, which means new ingredients too. Now, the shipment was supposed to come in yesterday but apparently, it hasn’t, so we’ll have to improvise until it does.”

“I hope you’re not about to ask what I think you’re about to ask, because nope,” Lance suddenly butt in, shameless. “Let’s just hold off the drinks until the stuff actually _comes_ instead of wasting time-- and money.”

“We can’t. The menu changes are in line to take effect immediately because the company has already set up advertisements. It’s just too soon to the Festival.”

“Urgh,” Hunk groaned, rubbing at an eye, “I don’t even wanna think about that yet. School’s already stressful enough, you know?”

It was true, and Lance couldn’t disagree even if he wanted to. Whoever thought it was a good idea to place the entire city’s Fall Festival the very week before school finals was probably Satan’s right hand man, he was sure of it. Not only did working teenagers have to drop everything to make sure their company was involved with the festivities, but even regular teenagers had to choose between hanging with friends or studying alone at home. The choice was clear, obviously, but that still doesn’t mean there weren’t regrets in the long run every time.

“So…?” Pidge urged, and Shiro sighed.

“One of you is going to have to stock the ingredients until the shipment arrives. I’ll let you decide that between yourselves.”

“I vote Lance,” Pidge and Hunk said in perfect unison without missing a beat, and it happened so quickly Lance didn’t even have time to process it.

“Wait-- _what?”_

“I’m too broke to do that right now, honestly,” Hunk said, smally.

“I’m trying to save up for a new laptop, and I’m almost there,” Pidge said, proudly.

“So where the hell do you guys think _I’m_ gonna get this kind of money from, then?” Lance said, wildly.

“I’ll pay you back over time,” Shiro comforted. He held out a slip of paper to Lance, presumably the list of ingredients, and said, “Until then, though, have we made an agreement?”

Without much of a choice, Lance moaned rather painfully, and snatched the list out of Shiro’s hand. Whatever. It wasn’t the first time he got the short end of the stick, after all.

“Thanks Lance,” Shiro smiled, already being on his way out. “We’ll make it up to you. And-- please try not to disturb the customers too much, okay?”

“Disturb?” Lance echoed incredulously as the door shut behind Shiro. “I am _not_ disturbing my good friend Kei--”

But one glance to the side, one single glance to Keith’s table had Lance’s words dying in his mouth. Keith was gone.

“Wha…?”

“Must’ve saw his advantage and snuck out while he could,” Pidge said with a snicker. “Tough luck.”

Lance moaned, then groaned, then made a noise in-between that had Hunk patting his back in concern.

Karma was truly a _bitch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all of your guys' kudos and _comments_ and bookmarks had me in t e a r s and I love all of you, thank you so much ((((:
> 
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